So here’s another thing about our new life in Central Texas. Football is a big damn deal, y’all. That’s not a stereotype, not just something you see on TV. It’s real. Super real. And as the mother of a little boy, it sorta freaks me out.
Before we moved here, we still lived in Texas. But it’s a big state, and Houston is a melting pot of everything. An international gathering place. (Don’t believe otherwise, no matter what political commercials say.) And the other kind of football was king. Soccer ruled our house. And really, it still does. But I can see its American nameshare sneaking in.
There’s a kiddie football league in our town, where kids can start playing at four years of age. (Spine injury before nine! Yeeehaa!) Harry has no idea that this exists, and I’d like to keep it that way for as long as possible.
There are parades in our little outside-of-the-big-town town for Football. Football parades. That’s right.
The big town we go to everyday for school and work…well, let’s just say it’s rather coocoocuhchoo for the sport. It’s a college town, and the team’s head coach is on the news more than the mayor, the governor (who sadly, gets presidential coverage, sorry about that y’all.), and Austin City Limits combined. My brother calls this coachlebrity ‘The Burnt Orange Jesus.’ It’s true. And Longhorn football is always the news. (“Today in Austin, there was a fire, it’s still hot, and now 27 minutes of UT football analysis!”)
And a few weeks ago, the university that Harry’s parents went to…the school that has never been known for its football anything…this year, our quarterback won the Heisman Trophy and our Alma Mater is going to a bowl game right up the street from our house.
Harry is now super into football. And his number-one Christmas wish was tickets to the Alamo Bowl. And a Baylor jersey. So, that’s where we’re going today. To fling our green and gold afar waaay past his bedtime. Go Baylor! Go football. Etc. Etc.
Next year he’s getting a chess set.